


The Cracked Bell

by Jakathine



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Anger, Anxiety, Arranged Marriage, Awkward Conversations, Awkwardness, Bitterness, Broken Engagement, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Celebrations, Character Study, Childhood Friends, Complete, Dinner, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, Dubious Science, Emotional Manipulation, Engagement, Experimentation, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fights, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force-Sensitive Hux, Gaslighting, Genocide, Human Experimentation, Hux-centric, Implied Hux/Kylo Ren, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, Inheritance, Injury, Jealousy, Kylo Ren Being a Little Shit, Lightsabers, M/M, Magical Artifacts, Major Character Injury, Manipulation, Mental Link, Mildly Dubious Consent, Military Academy, Military Training, Mind Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Minor Hux/Kylo Ren, Minor Phasma/Unamo, Nervousness, Protective Hux, Psychological Torture, Relationship(s), Seizures, Self-Defense, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Star Wars: The Force Awakens Spoilers, The Force, Unconsciousness, Unethical Experimentation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 11:03:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5926093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jakathine/pseuds/Jakathine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A baby boy swaddled in silvery-grey cloth was handed to a still panting human woman. There were already a fine few wispy strands of fire red hair on the boy’s head, matching the father who stood next to the bed and beamed with pride.<br/>“His name shall be Brendan.” Brendol Hux said, touching her lightly on the shoulder as they looked down at the dark green eyed babe that looked up at them.<br/>She kissed their son sweetly on the forehead, “Yes, our little prince. Set one day to rule the entire galaxy.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Distant Memories [Infancy to 8 Years]

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for all the help oorsprong and fedaykin for helping be my Betas!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, condone General Hux or his actions nor do I feel that any sort of past, no matter how dark and twisted, is an excuse for the heinous crime(s) he has committed such as one(s) we see in SW:TFA.  
> This fic is my way of understanding the General to a certain degree but please insert *Cool Motive, Still Murder* .gif right here and now. 
> 
> Psychological/Human Experimentation from real life will be mentioned and shown in order with an asterisk(*) for End Notes if you wish to do further reading into the experimentation.  
> That said, I hope that you all who want to read this enjoy it!

The first steps that Brendol made were restricting access between Brendan's mother and their son. It wasn’t that difficult as she no longer felt loved by Brendol, which was not entirely untrue - he had what he had wanted and excessive attachments would merely get in his way now.  Eventually, she separated from him and fled with her brother into hiding. This only fueled Brendol’s distrust of attachments and he sunk deeper into the throes of his studies and experimentations.

 Time after time Brendol Hux’s stormtrooper conditioning had been denied, ethics and other humanitarianism questioned to the point that Brendol was several hundred pages in backlogged research, data analyzing, and support complaints.

As he stared at the ever growing mountain on his desk he considered his options to secretly move forward the program while going unnoticed. The supporters he had were the parents of his private Commandmant Cadets so he was not altogether worried about funds. However, that meant he could not secretly condition the Cadets as he so wished unless he wanted to be swamped with lawsuits.

Suddenly Brendan wailed, his little arms flailing as he searched for attention. Brendol strode over to the crib, picking up his now nine month old son and rocking him gently. As Brendan quieted and sank his head onto his father’s shoulder Brendol’s mind conjured an idea so profound that he had to place Brendan down immediately and start writing in one of his notebooks before he forgot.

 The next afternoon Brendol constructed a small table with a hidden door and “backstage” for his arms and hands to fit through. Next he commissioned a townsperson to create small hand puppets of various animals such as a taun-taun, a bantha, an ewok, and a wampa.

 The first few tries were awkward as Brendol wasn’t really used to playing with Brendan but after a while he got used to it, placing Brendan in his high chair while Brendol sat behind the makeshift stage and manipulated the puppets.

 The experiment, Brendol had researched, was a way of identifying bias and favoritism among infants – or  at least trying as there was no solid evidence. He had a taun-taun puppet pretend to have difficulty opening a box and needed the bantha’s help opening it. Later Brendol reenacted the same scene of having the taun-taun opening the box only to have an ewok slam it closed on his ‘fingers’. After the play was over, Brendol put the soft toys in front of Brendan so he could tell him which was 'bad’ and which was 'good’.

Nearly every time Brendan associated the ewok with the bad and the bantha with the good. Excited with this information, Brendol decided to then test the judgmental skills with the bantha set in danger of falling off a ledge and being helped up by the ewok. Yet when the ewok was about to fall the bantha only laughed and 'kicked’ the ewok off.

At this point Brendol asked if bantha was still good or was the ewok good for helping this time (to point/look who he thought was good) and again Brendan looked at the bantha, his gaze fixated on the toy in fierce concentration.

 

Tests like this went on at random intervals over the next year, with Brendol jotting down every note possible in a journal as he knew these type of experiments were too risky to have on a digital platform. Soon, Brendol had begun to associate things such as self-gain and self-advancement as 'good’ while more selfless qualities as undesirable until he no longer had to reinforce these qualities. The seemingly natural behavior for a human to sympathize was overruled with paranoia, risks of prospective harm to self, and rarely showed itself as Brendol manipulated Brendan’s egocentricism.

 Fear was still an issue. Brendan showed obvious fear of answering wrong to Brendol, especially as Brendol had a tendency to become louder as his patience grew thinner, and that caused him physical responses such as stutters and bouts of silence. Brendol first researched fear experimentation to see if anything had been successfully done before starting with classical conditioning. Most of his research turned up empty, with most breaking from conformity after a short period of time or due to any sort of traumatic response or simply not working at all. Frustrated, Brendol turned instead to fear instillation to find out more.

 One experiment he greatly enjoyed he then employed on Brendan. He got Brendan comfortable with a bantha calf then introduced the bantha calf with extremely painful high pitched noises so then every time the bantha calf was brought closer to Brendan he would cry, snot running down his face as he tried to desperately get away from the calf before the noise would initiate. Afterwards, Brendol took away the bantha and substituted other brown-furred animals, reveling in the fact that they all had the same effect on Brendan.

 Then Brendol tried the more tenuous path of uninstalling the fear by using an albino bantha calf to correlate trust back into Brendan concerning banthas. The calf did its job, with Brendan taking to it readily and eventually Brendol was able to reintroduce the brown furred one with only mild reaction from Brendan. Satisfied thus far with Brendan’s results, Brendol continued to reintroduce various brown furred creatures in a  hate-inducing environment rather than a fear-inducing until all it took was showing a holo of a wookie to make Brendan get agitated and fling out his arms as if to hit the holo.

 

By the time Brendan had reached three years old, Brendol had decided to try even more theories after watching Brendan play with his toys in a certain way. First Brendan would gravitate towards the dark blue or green colors then make his way to the reds and oranges. Brendol scribbled down these color preferences and the next day decided to start his next test of praise versus punishment.

Whenever Brendan reached for a blue or green toy, Brendol would either leave the room or entirely ignore Brendan but whenever Brendan reached for a red or orange Brendol would actively engage with him, even praising him slightly for his choice in color. The punishment for a blue or green choice was being ignored or scoffed at with an offhand “that color?” while reds or oranges were highlighted and congratulated.

 At first Brendol noted that Brendan was slowly but surely putting the pieces together until he began to entirely ignore blue or green colored toys in favor of reds and orange - just so he could garner praise from Brendol. By doing this method, Brendol saw that the one thing Brendan absorbed the most of was praise. Therefore, as he carefully noted alongside this particular experiment, loyalty was better won with praise, no matter how shallow or falsified… but Brendol knew that this pattern could only go on for so long and until then decided to indulge Brendan in the slightest by filling his head with ideas that one day, in some way, Brendan was meant to be Emperor of the Galaxy and that above all would be what made him worthwhile.

 

Over the next year Brendol would prop up Brendan in his lap while he filed reports, drew up schematics, and wrote speeches. Brendan caught on quickly to the datapad’s touchscreens, to the point that he was putting together simplistic models at an increasing speed. Brendol would consistently rig the puzzles more difficult but still simple enough for a child and was pleased to see Brendan keep pace with the modifications.

 Now, with Brendan reaching six years of age Brendol knew that Brendan’s formal education would need to be considered. Brendan could read and somewhat write, albeit as messily as any other six year old, so placing him into self-schooling was the next step prior to educating. Brendol believed that one day Brendan would need to be as adept as possible in all manner of society – especially if he managed to become Emperor.

 Laws and regulations of Imperial society standards were drilled into Brendan’s head while in his penmanship he had to copy note after note from brief catalogs and informational texts. If Brendol was not satisfied with any of Brendan’s transcribing he would take the entire collection and throw the copies away, demanding that Brendan start again and do it neatly or he would have to do it all over again. Brendol would soften his verbal blow with gentle words of disappointment dripping in thick layers of reprise about how important learning his letters were to him and surely Brendan did not want to fail.

By the time Brendan completed his work he was tired, his hands were sore as Brendol insisted he learn to utilize both hands in case one or the other were to become injured, and worse yet the night was not nearly over. His father insisted on training him in self-defense that he claimed would be useful during his initial years at the Arkanis Academy.

 

“Come on, boy!” Brendol shouted, the small black spiral charm hanging from his neck glinting in the training room’s light as they circled one another.

They wore thin black-material shorts and tank tops, feet bare on the training room’s padded floor as they continued to survey one another with matching dark green eyes. Any tell-tale movements such as muscle twitches and body language to tip off where the other was planning to move did not go unnoticed.  

Brendan’s task would be to usually retrieve the charm but so far today he was having a difficult time. The charm reminded him of a black hole, with both its whirled shape and its difficulty to catch as it was eating up his patience.  Should he give up easily, he would go to bed hungry and half the time stripped to only his underclothes so he tried valiantly to reach for it.

In a sudden surge of energy and a right side feint Brendan finally was able to snatch at the charm in his left hand, gripping it tightly in his palm as he yanked the cord and rolled between his father’s legs. The cord snapped easily and as Brendan reoriented himself he proudly held up the charm.

“Good.” Brendol said as took the charm back. He motioned for Brendan over to a pit in the floor and, as they both looked down, shoved Brendan into it and tossed a thin rope that stopped short of being reachable, “Time to learn climbing skills. Find a method to get that rope – and trust me there is one - and get out. You have an hour before the temperature begins to drop then at every half hour the temperature will drop by ten degrees.”

 

Brendan looked up at his father in confusion, betrayal, and finally determination, “Yes, sir.”

–

At age eight Brendan was light, spindly even, with his shock of red hair setting him immediately in contrast with other humans. Despite his two prior years of fitness training Brendan had remained slim, with Brendol accusingly stating that that factor had come from a mother that Brendan couldn’t even remember. As soon as the initiation ceremony was over, everyone with head hair had it buzzed down which made him appear almost blond. His eyebrows he could not hide, though, and hair-dying was against regulations so he had to suffer through name-callings and other retorts. Things only escalated from bad to worse when his new commander noticed the name of “Hux” on his roll call and immediately called him on it.

 “Hux, huh?” he said, curling his lip and looking the boy up and down, “You don’t look like much at all. Don’t think you’ll get special treatment just because you’re Brendol’s boy.”

 Brendan considered arguing with the man but words of warning from his father to not create enemies too early rang through his head and he cast his eyes downward in subservience, staring instead at a shiny spot on the man’s black boots. The commander stood there a moment to assess him then laughed uproariously which got the attention of the thirteen other cadets in the room.

 “Perhaps you won’t be that bad after all. It seems you already know how to keep your head down.” the man leaned in close, his breath ghosting across Brendan’s ear as he spoke, “Careful to whom you bow , boy. Some will take advantage of that exposed neck.” and with that he suddenly reached up, his fingers closing on Brendan’s slim neck and just as suddenly he released, leaving Brendan standing shell-shocked.

The commander walked off to inspect the others in the barracks, ignoring Brendan who merely bit his tongue. The other cadets had appeared frozen in place but also relieved as they were not the first targets. Brendan surveyed the room of interspecies co-eds and wondered with whom he could best manipulate to be beneficial.

 Immediately after he had left his barracks he slammed directly into the back of an extremely tall person wearing the standard black uniform and having short cropped blondish hair. It wasn’t until the person turned around that Brendan realize the person was a human female - an upper level teenage cadet at that by her breastpocket’s badge.

 

“Oh, hello.” the person said, her voice an interesting cadence he had not heard before as she flashed him a smile, “My name is Phasma. What’s yours?”

“Brendan.” he said shyly, looking up at her height which exceeded his by a good four inches.

“Nice to meet you. Is this your first day?” Phasma asked, glancing at his lower level youth cadet badge.

 Brendan nodded, his ears tinging pink from the amount of attention he was receiving.

“I’m heading to the Mess. Can’t sit with you because you’re lower lev but I can show you where you’ll need to be.” Phasma said, clapping Brendan on the shoulder as she led him to the cafeteria hall.

Brendan smiled at her while thinking that perhaps his Academy years wouldn’t be too bad after all.

He would be proven wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Baby Lab Experiments  
> *Little Albert Experiment  
> *Praise Vs. Punishment Experiment


	2. No Impediment [Early Teenage Years]

As the dark red knee-length cloak was draped over the shoulders of Phasma’s new silver standard trooper outfit that fitted her 6ft 2in frame perfectly Brendan felt his heart swell with joy. She had recently turned nineteen and was now placed in charge of her own small battalion as they were about to depart for their first mission. Brendan’s own ceremony to become an upper level cadet had happened the week before, but for now he placed that happy thought to the side as Phasma received a silver stormtrooper helmet and bowed her head in respect to her now-former commander.

The formalities over Phasma allowed herself to slip into her excitement, bounding over to Brendan to sweep him up in a hug, his feet dangling freely as she gripped him.

When she set him down she gave him a hearty clap on the shoulder, “I’ll miss ya, kid.”

Brendan smiled up at her and hugged her around the waist, allowing himself a few moments of childishness. He knew he would probably be tormented about it later, but at the moment he didn’t care. They would’ve stayed like that had Phasma’s departure ship had not been ready, the flight coordinator huffily demanding her to board the ship.

The sleek silver ship lifted and flew out of the Academy with Brendan’s only friend aboard. He also knew that without her there, things were about to go downhill - Phasma had been kind to him when no one else was and she had protected him even when he least wanted it. When he could no longer see the ship Brendan left the hanger and headed to his barracks.

Along the way a group of three slightly older cadets stopped him. One of them, the leader, had just this side of rule-mandated hair length and sloppy dress code, his uniform seeming to always hang the wrong way from his wiry form. This one stepped forward and grinned at Brendan.

“So now that you’re little pseudo-mother has left you, who’s going to protect you now?”

Brendan straightened his back to stand at his full five foot height, “I can protect myself just fine.”

“Can you now?” the boy taunted, his lips pulling back into a feral grin as the other two started to move in on him from either side.

Brendan slid his right foot diagonally backwards into his fighting posture, his palms open but raised to his hips, “Yes, and I suggest you leave me be.” 

He would rather avoid physical altercations. They were messy, annoying, and above all unnecessary in his mind. The two on either side launched simultaneously, one catching Brendan on the left arm while the other was decked by Brendan’s upper cut. The one on his left gave a mighty twist, popping his shoulder out of socket, which knocked Brendan off balance and to the floor. Deciding in a last moment the best step Brendan flopped still, feigning having hit his head on the hard metal floors. 

The boy he had upper cut kicked him to roll over on his back. As soon as his back made contact he sprung up, his knee making contact with one boy’s groin while the other received another punch, this time to the nose. Their leader watched this in mild fascination as Brendan stood, panting and twisting his shoulder until a sickening pop noise indicated he had maneuvered it back into joint.

Without warning the leader struck, his fist making contact with Brendan’s jaw before he realized before a hand tightened around his neck and lifted him up to where only the tips of his toes brushed against the ground. 

“Enough!!” A voice shouted down the hall, prompting the boy to let Brendan drop to the ground like a sack and gasp for air, noticing in the haze the face of his former lower-level commander.

“He picked a fight with us, Sir.” the boy fibbed, pointing a finger at Brendan.

“Like hell he did.” the commander said, his face livid, “All of you..” he pointed to the three boys, “Sector 4 - now.” with that he bent to help Brendan up while the other three slunk off, “Are you all right, son?”

The endearment never seemed to get old to Brendan whenever the commander used it, which was rare nowadays since his transfer, but nevertheless he nodded, his hand idly rubbing on his larynx. 

The commander gave Brendan’s upper arm a firm squeeze, “They’ve been nothing but trouble those three, all rich heirs without discipline. If I get my way they’ll be expelled.” he gave Brendan a look over, touching his throat gently to inspect for damage, “I have a ration of honey in my quarters if you need it.”

Brendan shook his head, his voice was scratchy when he spoke, “It will be fine, Sir.” he considered his next words but said them anyways, “I’ve had worse.”

Sharp eyes fixated on Brendan’s words while his lip curled in disdain, “Have you really? and not filed any reports?”

Brendan gave him a small smile, “Because they were all dealt with - those three were just….resilient.”

The commander huffed but bid farewell to Brendan, leaving him to his own devices.

When he reached his barracks, housing only seven other recruits this time, he strode into the refresher to look at his neck. Due to his genetics Brendan bruised easily but this was nothing that a swab of bacta couldn’t heal overnight should he leave it on. It was a good thing since his father was set to arrive at his sector tomorrow to inspect the cadets and visit Brendan.

Brendan was wary of these visits. As he grew older his father’s temper seemed to worsen, fueled his peer’s incompetence and stress, and though it was rare that temper would flare in Brendan’s direction. That night he settled into his bunk, the bacta soaked wrap on his throat as he dozed and finally slipped to sleep, already missing Phasma and hopping that the next day wouldn’t be terrible.

\--

Upon the landing of the Commandmant’s silver-grey ship the musician cadets played a hearty fanfare that reverberated in the hanger almost ominously. Brendan adjusted his stance, pushing down his anxiousness into a corner of his mind as the officers descended the ship’s ramp. The order of officers went from low to high with the pilots at the very end – as was customary.  As the ranks thinned to reveal the pinnacle ranked Commandmant Brendol Hux, Brendan felt a cold sweat break out in the middle of his back.

Brendol swept a critical gaze around the hanger, studying the rows of cadets flanking his path and his surroundings before affixing his sights on Brendan who stood in roughly the middle of the left side’s line up. Brendan noticed that his father’s red beard was streaked with two wide greyish stripes around his chin, a new addition since he had last seen his father. Their eyes met briefly as Brendol passed by, an entire unspoken conversation flitting between them.

Brendol was greeted by the Academy’s temporary overseeing officer at the end of the row and they walked off together, already deep into conversation. As soon as the Commandmant was out of sight Brendan relaxed, not realizing that he had been unconsciously digging his nails into his palms until the soreness set in. He assessed that he had not broken skin, just causing it to become an angry red, but he mentally noted to trim his nails further later. Each cadet group was dismissed in turns, the commanders briskly assigning daily rounds to their cadets before leaving, no doubt heading to a planned conference with the Commandment.

Brendan gladly departed to his assigned duties when his group was released but still felt a level of apprehension. The glances which were indiscernible to the other cadets carried a message for Brendan alone that he was to meet his father at his quarters tomorrow morning, 0500 sharp…and that they had several important things to discuss. Important things that Brendan knew could not possibly bode well.

Concentrating on the centering techniques his Master of Arms had taught him, Brendan breathed in and out deeply, willing his nerves to cease their haywire bouncing as he recounted her directed lessons. He quickly finished his assignments, went back to the ‘racks to bathe and slip into bedclothes, and found himself surprisingly tired enough to fall instantly asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

\--

Hux placed his hands behind his back and forced himself into parade’s rest as his father continued to tap notes into a datapad. He had arrived at 0500 as commanded and had been given a solitary silencing finger after entering his father’s quarters. With nothing other to do Hux looked around his father’s office space that served as his quarters’ antechamber. There was nothing too special about it, stainless durasteel flooring and walls that gave off a coldness from their dark grey surface; a squat chronometer on the black lacquered desk with a white face and red backing that reflected the durasteel chair next to Hux’s right side.

The desk alone showed Commandmant Hux’s importance as the wood was from some far-off planet where the trees really were black as the night sky. Hux had started to count the individual squares in an above light fixture when his father placed his datapad down on the desk with a resounding _thwump._

“Do you have any knowledge as to what I wish to discuss with you?” Brendol Hux asked, leaning back in his chair and interlocking his fingers in his lap.

“No, sir.” Brendan replied sincerely.

“You may sit.” Brendol relented.

Brendan sat down gratefully in the hard chair, glad to be off his feet after what felt like hours. He could not see the chronometer face so he really did not know how long he had been there.

“There has been issues… As you know from keeping up with the holojournals, the Galactic Civil War is starting to come to a close.” Brendol told him. Brendan opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off, “Unbeknownst to you I have been running an underground operation, Brendan, named the Commandmant Cadets, for quite a number of years. There is a Concordance in the wind that the Empire may sign with the New Republic which would, for all intents, be a threat to everything.”

Brendol paused then looked Brendan in the eye, watching and waiting for Brendan to process this information. Brendan did not know what to say, he was that much surprised by his father’s open admittance of a secret organization and furthermore surprised by the possibility of the Empire bowing before the New Republic. He had had a small eagerness to tell his father about his cadet advancement when he had arrived this morning but his achievement seemed minute in comparison to this information that had just been dumped on him.

Considering a safer question, Brendan asked, “What are we planning to do if the Concordance goes through?”

“Leia Organa, one of the New Republic Senators, is rumored to have petitioned the end to Imperial Academies such as Arkanis. Currently there is a battle occurring near the desert planet of Jakku. Its results will determine our next course of action, Brendan, whatever it may be.” Brendol said grimly.

After a brief silence Brendol swapped topics and for the next half hour father and son traded ideas, plans, and a few rare laughs. Brendan felt himself fall into an ease with his father that he immediately wished he had not. A slipped piece of attention to a story his father was recounting made Brendol go from jovial to jerk-ass within seconds when Brendan was unable to properly reply.

“Since you’ve decided to ignore me you may leave.” Brendol said coldly, picking up his datapad.

Brendan tried to defend himself but he thought against it, deciding instead to stand and give a curt bow before turning sharply on his heel and leaving.

The entire idea that the Empire may fall – no, crumble – into the whims of the pathetic New Republic disgusted Brendan and kept him angry throughout the rest of his daily training. Actually, it kept him angry throughout the rest of the month.

Any time he landed sights on his father marching through corridors, talking with his associates, and at one point Brendan noticed paying particular attentions to specific students he felt his anger well up anew. Before when Brendan had been in the lower level these types of interactions went virtually unnoticed but now, after being around the more complex workings, he noticed and felt a slow cold hate spread throughout his chest.

These young elite Cadets, the stars of his father’s eyes. He could tell who these special students were not only by how his father interacted but by the way they themselves acted as though better than everyone else. It rarely helped that they also excelled in all of their regular courses and for the most part maintained a squeaky clean persona that made Brendan want to roll his eyes.

More than once the brief interactions between father and son ended with verbal arguments that left Brendan even more infuriated that his father had started to refuse saying any more information to him.

Towards the end of Commandmant Hux’s visit a sudden emergency holo-announcement rang out in the halls as channels were auto-directed to a news broadcast of a holojournalist giving information on the newly signed Galactic Concordance:

_"In the month since the Battle of Jakku, the Empire has attempted no further large-scale offensives. Sources report all Imperial vessels within the Core and Inner Rim staying within the boundaries defined by the treaty. A few prominent members of the Provisional Senate have speculated that the New Republic's war with the remnants of the Empire has finally come to an end and that a final surrender may be imminent. However, in her address today, the chancellor warned that all planets should remain on high alert, and the New Republic Starfleet should be kept on a war footing for the foreseeable future."*_

Cadets and commanders alike watched in mild horror as the holojournalist read through the terms of the proposed Concordance, including the reduction of Imperial military and the closing of Imperial academies. Shouts rose up among students and were only quieted down after a few hasty moments by the commanders calling out for their individual squadrons to meet in their respective barracks.

As Hux was ushered down the hall he felt himself yanked sideways by a strong hand. He looked up at who had grabbed him to see his father’s solemn face.

“It is time for us to go.” Brendol said, releasing Brendan’s arm and walking briskly down the hall, “I have already left orders for my overseer to fulfill when the need arises.”

“What about all your data?” Brendan asked keeping in step with his father as they re-routed to the hangar.

Brendol laughed, a short barking noise that made Brandan jump, “What do you think I have been doing this past month? All the data has already been transferred, saved, and whatever else needed to ensure its safety including wiped off of every system here at the Academy.”

“Oh.” Brendan said, a little breathlessly as his short legs were trying valiantly to keep him near to his father.

They reach the Commandmant ship and boarded it after releasing the docking restraints. Brendan wasn’t surprised with his father’s thoroughness to find the ship already well stocked for transport. After checking the hatches were sealed and then out of habit ensuring the supplies were thatched down properly Brendan joined his father in the cockpit.

Without a word Brendan adjusted his helmet and placed the com speaker in place before navigating their ascent and adjusting their course to the Outer Rim. Brendan strapped himself into the co-pilots chair and briefly wondered where Phasma was. Pushing a small swell of worry to the side at that thought Brendan thought more thoroughly what could possibly be in the Outer Rim….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *holojournalist tidbit from http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Galactic_Concordance  
> (opening quote)


	3. When Nights Turn Lead [Upper Teenage Years]

A loud wailing alarm suddenly resounded in Brendan’s quarters, making him sit up and reach for his blaster immediately. Muted red light flashed in the room, casting everything in a dangerous red hue that had him pulling himself out of grogginess. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a movement. He quickly aimed and fired as he stepped out of bed. He stopped in front of the body and observed the blaster-hole dead center in an assassin’s chest that had resulted in the mottled grey outfit being splattered with the person’s own flesh. A cord was suddenly brought down against his throat, surprising him enough to drop his blaster to the ground to reach up and grip at the cord biting into his throat.

Brendan kicked, squirmed, and finally hooked his foot behind his attacker’s ankle to flip them up and over before bringing down his foot onto the attacker’s throat, successfully breaking their neck with a sickening crunch. A low whistle in the air was the only warning before Brendan felt a small dagger sink itself into his left shoulder, having just barely missed his heart. Brendan grunted in pain and scooped his blaster up before shooting in the general direction of the blade’s source.

His shots missed and another blade came twirling through the air, missing him this time as he managed to swerve to the side. A quick shot in that direction earned Brendan a muted grunt and a body collapsing to the floor below in a crumpled heap.

A woman’s voice called overhead, “Simulation A3S2 complete.”

Brendan breathed out a sigh of relief as the hologram faded out, the bodies fragmenting and disappearing alongside the programmed room layout.

“Complete but not satisfactory.” Brendol said, stepping into the holoroom with a hint of disdain in his voice, “You still got yourself injured.”

Brendan looked down at his shoulder where the knife had disintegrated away and touched the spot. Physically he knew he was fine, there were safety protocols for that, but this simulator worked on psychologically challenging a tester making him feel as though he had really gotten stabbed. He probably would end up taking some medications later to help with the stinging after-pain - that is if he were allowed access to them. He had been in the simulation for five days, according to the accumulator that was brought up on a holopad, and had had to successfully contract his way to ensure his ‘lodging’ and now for the third time be nearly ‘assassinated’.

Brendol’s hair had gone fully grey now, the only red left being in his eyebrows which were currently furrowed together as he logged Brendan’s progress. Over the black durasteel rimmed glasses he now had to wear he gave Brendan a hard look, “You are dismissed. Shower and prepare for tonight’s dinner at 2100. We have a special guest with us today.”

With a short nod Brendan left the holoroom and went down the corridor to his quarters. He carefully unbound his hair, having let it grow out since their departure from the academy, and shook his head to release some tension. His bright orange locks fell to his shoulders now and curled slightly at the bottom. When he refused to get his hair cut into a standard military length like he had at the Academy he thought his father would be furious. Brendan was happily surprised when Brendol commented instead that since they were now in hiding it did not matter as long as Brendan kept himself well-groomed.

As he stripped bare he looked at his shoulder. Just as he thought there was no marking on his shoulder but it was achy, as if squeezed too hard or had suffered a spasm. Brendan used the refresher’s mirror to take an assessment to his appearance. A bruise on his right hip from last week’s physical dueling training had once been bright purple but had now dulled to a horrid yellow that made him frown at his reflection. Another bruise on his left thigh was nearly gone from where he had been slammed down onto the floor by one of his trainer’s hard throws. He had been fortunate the instructor hadn’t the mind to break his leg because he knew she could have. Brendan shook his head again, smiling at the thought and at the slight tickling of his hair against his shoulders before setting out his towel and stepping into the shower.

He scrubbed himself thoroughly, ensuring his nails were clean and that his hair was washed completely. After he stepped out he dried off and clicked a panel that from above projected hot air onto his scalp to dry out his hair. It took him a few agonizing minutes to get some of the more complicated knots brushed out but after he had the rest was quick to brush and to tie into a bun at the base of his neck. He shaved the nearly week old stubble from his face and applied bacta-salve to appease the after burn before patting on his favorite after shave. Satisfied with how he looked Brendan wandered to his room to select his outfit.

Special guests were rare on the planetary station they had been aboard for nearly seven years. Rarer still were formal dinners although Brendol made sure to educate Brendan at every chance about the etiquette. Brendan guessed that whoever this guest was must not only be special but extremely important.

Finally Brendan selected one of his nicer formal-wear outfits. It was a dark purple velvet trouser and jacket with a dark grey undervest that complemented his jacket’s dark grey lapels. The shirt he slipped on was a light silver-grey that went well with the silver-grey galaxy swirls on dark grey design of his tie. He bent down and laced up his shiny black shoes and leaned back a few times on his heels to have them adjust comfortably. This was one of the few times he’d be able to wear this outfit.

Technically as he was nearing his nineteenth birthday he would be achieving the rank of unit commander but as of yet Brendan had heard nothing of a placement advancement. It made him anxious and worried. Though their structure had started off as informal, loose and nearly to the point of simply being, it had slowly been built up over the years into a makeshift society. Other Imperials had fled that same night, something the New Republic liked to call the “Imperial Exodus” with most like themselves eventually finding their way to the Unknown Regions where the Republic had no jurisdiction. Brendol had been steadily working, his data having been successfully saved, and had been meticulously piecing together what he had started to call the First Order…. right under the noses of the New Republic.

Brendan scoffed at his now impeccably dressed reflection. The New Republic, too tumultuous to want to wager another war any time soon to where they thought their laws would somehow apply to those who never felt a part of their society. At least here, out of most comm range, the First Order was bargaining on that fear and weakness to nurture itself and so far from Brendan could see another five or so years and the newest wave of programming could be launched.  He glanced at the clock to see that it was nearing 2100 and that he should make his way to the hall instead of dwelling on such thoughts.

\--

Brendan entered into the sequestered dining room to find that dining area had already been prepared, probably by Brendol himself. It’s not that they were lacking droids, they had plenty of those as well as servers, but from the set up Brendan just knew.

The room was large enough for perhaps a party of ten. Today it had a simple square table set in the middle with four chairs, one of which was high-backed with a holoprojector pointed at it and the table was set with the fancy plates and glasses that Brendan knew his father rarely ever let see day light. Whoever this guest - guests he reminded himself as there were four chairs set - must be must be royalty or very important donors, Brendan considered as he waited by the door, as he clasped his hands behind his back. Thankfully he did not have to wait very long as his father strode into the room.

Brendol had donned his Commandmant uniform of all black upon black, including his boots, and even deigned it appropriate to wear his gold collar clasp that elegantly looped from one collar corner to the other. He nodded to Brendan and stood opposite him of the door frame as they waited for their guest.

About five or so boring minutes later they could hear footsteps approaching. They were soft thuds, as if the person were walking on a cushioned sole, but solid enough to make aware of the person’s impending arrival. As the two men turned to face their guest they were both surprised at having to look directly downwards at a black-robed hooded figure who stood perhaps no more than five foot nine inches. Brendan already stood at just below six feet tall while his father was six foot two. The two composed themselves quickly but perhaps not quick enough as a pale hand reached up to whip back the hood to reveal a sour-faced teen with a long face mottled with freckles.

Brendan’s eyes widened and he felt his jaw go slack though it was to his credit it did not fall completely open. Brendol was slightly faster with the recovery, bowing to the stranger.

“My name is Brendol Hux, former Command-”

“Yes, I know. Former Commandment of the Arkanis Academy.” the boy interrupted, his voice higher than expected and much softer than Brendan would have guessed it to be. Dark black eyes flicked to Brendan, “And you are his son, Brendan.”

Brendan furrowed his brows and gave a customary bow while keeping his eyes on him, “Yes, I am. Pardon but we do not know who you are?”

The boy was silent for a moment, his eyes boring into Brendan’s and making Brendan feel as though caught in the cross-hairs of a sniper’s blaster-rifle, “Kylo. My name is Kylo.”

Brendol opened his mouth to speak again when the holoprojector in the room activated and projected a figure into the table’s sole high-backed chair. Kylo glanced in that direction and motioned with a nod of his head.

“Supreme Leader Snoke, my master.”

Brendol nodded his greetings, his face stoically set while Brendan looked on in amazement at the Supreme Leader’s pockmarked face that was severely scarred on one side and his bald crown having a split running down one of its sides. Even though he was only a holoprojection Brendan could practically feel the amount of power the person exuded.

“I trust introductions have gone well?” Snoke asked, the question directed at Brendol.

“Yes, sire. It is a pleasure to meet you in person. Well, somewhat in person.” Brendol replied pulling out a chair for Kylo who sat in it with about as much grace as a gungan.

Brendan sat in his own chair on his father’s left side while Kylo sat directly across from him, leaving them to face one another while the meal was served.

Dinner was a solemn event as the three persons ate in silence while the blue holoprojection of Supreme Leader Snoke vaguely observed them. Brendan swore he felt his bread lodge in his throat once or twice he was that nervous with being so thoroughly watched. The dark clothed youth sitting across from him did not help matters.

Brendan was unsure exactly how to gauge his age but he considered perhaps older than thirteen but certainly no older than himself. Kylo’s eyes were much too large, his face much too round to be older than him. Even Kylo’s dark hair was odd, half shorn down on the sides from where he had perhaps tried to cut his hair by himself but given up part ways through and with a messy curly tuft on top that flopped down over his forehead.

Interestingly enough Kylo ignored the meat he had been served and focused on the leafy greens in earnest. Besides that he chose to drink water rather than the bubbly beverages Brendan himself usually preferred.

“Why don’t you like meat?” Brendan ventured as he ate a piece had cut.

Kylo looked at him over the rim of his glass, drinking on it while narrowing his eyes. When he set it down he shrugged, “Too much… connection. Never have liked it.”

Brendan did not really know what Kylo meant but made a soft ‘ah’ noise before going back to eating his food. Dessert was shortly served thereafter, a type of rich chocolate mousse that while Brendan ate carefully Kylo scooped up in globs until he looked nearly sick afterwards.

Utensils clinked on dishes and was only briefly relieved whenever the Supreme Leader started to trade conversation with Brendol concerning the progress of the First Order, leaving Brendan to once again steal glances in Kylo’s direction while Kylo was likewise looking around. Without warning Kylo simply looked at Brendan directly. Brendan, knowing himself caught, tried to turn away but found his head locked into position.

Conversation had ceased at some point but it was lost in the background as a sudden low hum made Brendan’s teeth chatter against one another and his brain felt like it was being squeezed with increasing pressure that had him blinking away black spots. Yet still he found himself unable to move, those wide dark eyes boring into him and the feeling of writhing deep within his chest as if his heart had come sentient and was attempting to claw its way out.

Suddenly the feeling was dropped. It was so sudden and dizzying that Brendan had perhaps a second to register he needed to vomit. Fortunately it was only a small amount. Unfortunately it ended up being directly back into his plate with a slight dribble on his chin.

He father stared with a mix of profane horror and secondary concern as Brendan brought a shaky hand up to wipe away the spittle with his dinner cloth.

“Sorry, I don’t know what that was.” Brendan apologized, slowly standing and bracing his hand on the table when he swayed.

Kylo chuckled. It was an uncanny noise somewhere between a breathless hiccup and a snicker, “That was me.”

The Supreme Leader smiled lopsidedly, as that’s really all his face would allow, “Kylo, I warned you to play nice.”

Suddenly the childishness under the surface surged and Brendan watched in amazement as Kylo actually _pouted_.

 

“It is not exactly my fault they are broadcasting so loudly.” Kylo said, glancing between the two men, “Especially that one.” His looked at Brendan pointedly, “Going on and on worrying about examinations, trainings, rankings, a woman named ‘Phasma’, and the most annoying ‘n loudest thought of all about some guy named ‘Kasdan’.” Kylo curled a lip, “Pathetic really on that one, so many thoughts…”

Brendan gaped at Kylo who smirked broadly and made small vulgar motions with his slender fingers.

“Oh, what such _thoughts_ you have about him.”

“Enough!” Brendan shouted, glaring daggers at Kylo and willing him to shut up while he knew heat was rising to his face.

Brendol looked at Kylo then slowly at his son before saying, “Kasdan? Out of all the people here on this forsaken place - _Kasdan_? Thought I’d raised you to have better tastes than that.”

Brendan was unsure what was burning his ears more: the fact his father did not seem particularly that upset about his current infatuation being a man or the fact that said current infatuation was the actual reason his father was upset.

“I think…” Supreme Leader Snoke said softly, elongated fingers tapping on his chair arm, “That dinner is concluded for the night.” He looked at Kylo, “Proceed to your chambers, my apprentice. I shall see you again in the morning.”

Kylo inclined his head and stood up, not bothering to tuck his chair in, and left the room. The Supreme Leader’s holoprojection faded out leaving father and son to stare at one another.

Brendol jutted his lower jaw and fiddled with a knife next to his plate before taking away his hands and placing them in his lap, the right hand’s forefinger and thumb rubbing together slowly as he thought.

“Father, I…” Brendan tried to say but was cut off sharply by a stern look and seeing the pace of his finger rubbing increase.

“I keep to myself the awareness of your… inclinations, Brendan, but Kasdan is a no-good nerfherder from a lower-bred family. Somehow, somewhere my trainings seemed to have failed if you cannot differentiate between decently presentable lovers.”

Brendan bit his lower lip to restrain from saying anything.

“As such, perhaps it’s rather astute that tomorrow you are leaving for advanced training in an upper divisional taught by one of my former cohorts.”

“WHAT?!” Brendan shouted and then realized his mistake as he shrank back from his father who had stood impossibly quickly to look him dead in the eye.

“You are leaving tomorrow from this place and I don’t want to see you again until you’ve achieved something useful.” Brendol said sharply, his words dripping with unrestrained contempt.

At a loss for words Brendan could only stare in wide-eyed shock as he father backed away then turned on his heel, stomping out of the room. Brandan left the room after him, turning down the opposite hall towards his room and striding over to his desk soon after he entered. He didn’t bother to activate the room’s lights, choosing instead to tap his lamp on to sit in the half-light it offered.

He sat down heavily in the chair, sagging slightly with the weight of his father’s words. His desk had scattered notes atop of it, an errant stylus had rolled out of its bag and towards him, and only stopping as it ran up against his arm.

Suddenly with unrestrained hatred and energy Brendan swiped an arm over the desk’s top, flinging his notes and lamp onto the ground as he loomed over the mess. Papers fluttered and the bulb within the lamp, having shattered, gave out after a few sputtering moments of life and plunged him into darkness. He simply stood there, breath ragged and body tensed as he said every imaginable curse he could think of into the dark hoping that Kylo could hear him from wherever he was.

Spent and tired from his rare explosion Brendan wandered to his bed on the opposite wall, well away from where the bulb had shattered, and collapsed into the bed.

As he started to slip into sleep he considered that whatever wherever he was planned to go may be his new home. If he failed or was not satisfactory enough a New Republic prison would be a kinder mercy than the wrath of his own father.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kasdan (the name) is inspired by Lawrence Kasdan, the screenplay writer for SW:TFA. His name just sounds so Star Wars-like I couldn't help it.


	4. Rale of A Wounded Man [Early 20s]

Brendan knew that he did not have what his fellow First Order officers would call a “masculine physique”. When he was going through Academy it was one of his shames but now, at twenty-three, he felt a little differently. As the stitching of Major were sewn in silvery-grey colors onto his left sleeve of his new dark blue greatcoat he felt a surge of pride that he had gotten to this position not on brutish brawn but on his intellect. There had been riff-raffs to sort through, perhaps a few lives lost for a better means to an end, but he above all had survived and continued on.

The entire ceremony was rather formal as the First Order had recently branched out into expenditures for up-and-coming officers of the new era following the first successful wave of simulation trained troopers. As of late that included live attendance of select officers achieving awards and having their new rank coat being stitched publicly by a seamstress. It was a droll event for some but for Brendan this was a moment he had been striving for nearly three years.

Brendol Hux sat among the other dignitaries of the First Order’s front row spectators, a half-smile on his lips as the greatcoat was placed on Brendan’s shoulders. The large coat framed him in such a way that, alongside his ego boost, he seemed even taller than his now six-foot-one and larger framed. He had learned quickly with his previous Captain’s outfit that wearing the actual coat swallowed his frame, making him appear smaller, but wearing it on the shoulders with the padding resting on his regular uniform’s padding caused an aura of authority and grandeur.

As the audience of perhaps two hundred clapped resoundingly Brendan felt color rise to his cheeks in pride. A few more new ranking officers went through a procession after he stepped down and rejoined the previous officers before the session was finally adjured. Families and colleagues met in an outside reception that was for Brendan something short of a nightmare as frivolous niceties never were his strong point.

The wind kicked up suddenly and Brendan vaguely thought about how he missed his long hair. Now it was cut down now to a precise and neat military cut, perfect for casual and professional circumstances, which was for all purposes helpful but he couldn’t help the longing for the strands he had grown to love. As a boisterous Colonel, perhaps a little drunk already from the strong liquor punch that was being served, interrupted his thoughts.

“So you’re Brendol’s boy, hmmm?” the Colonel asked, a bit of the reddish punch slopping out of his crystal glass and onto his similar dark-blue uniform sleeve.

“Yes, sir.” Brendan responded, his fingers light on the neck of his own glass while he watched the Colonel sit heavily in a nearby chair.

“You don’t look like much.” The man commented, taking a swig and placing the now empty glass on the table.

Brendan smiled coldly, crinkling his eyes for a desired smiling effect, “It was an unfortunateness of genetics that I inherited my physique from my mother’s side.”

As the Colonel was about to open his mouth to say something that Brendan felt was soon to be a remark on not only his mother as a person but perhaps maybe his own fathering Brendol appeared and clapped a tight hand on the Colonel shoulder, stopping his forming words.

“Colonel. How nice to see you.” Brendol said evenly, his hand not relaxing from its tight grip.

“How nice to see you as well, Brendol.” The Colonel said as his eyes darted warily to Brendol’s hand.

Brendol looked at his son directly before flicking his eyes to the side, “Brendan, there are a few things I would like to discuss with him. If you would please go talk to that lady right over there. She’s been eager to see you.”

Brendan opened his mouth to argue that he had no desire to talk to any lady, no matter how nice but he instead turned his attention in that direction to see a tall blonde haired woman sipping on a glass of champagne and speaking with another officer. It took him a moment but finally he recognized his friend Phasma. A flood of joy coursed through him and he had to reassess himself as he walked over to her. He noticed that she smiled at the officer, a woman of probably twenty-five with dark brown hair, and gave an errant touch to her shoulder. Brendan smiled to himself, a bit pleased that Phasma had become more evidently open about herself to be doing such a thing here.

“By the Holy Stars, are you who I _think_ you are?” Brendan asked as he stepped up behind Phasma.

She whipped around, nearly spilling the contents of her drink, obviously very ready to launch into an argument with whoever dared to interrupt her but one look at Brendan’s face and she grinned broadly. She placed her glass down and wrapped Brendan in a hug that reminded him of the day she had left for her first mission. His feet even dangled from the ground. He hugged her back, a sincere feeling of companionship filling him to the point he thought he was going to burst.

“Who’s your friend?” the brown-haired woman asked after Brendan had been set back down.

“Major Brendan Hux.” Brendan said, holding out his hand and knowing he looked less than professional now that his jacket was partly askew and his hair was in disarray from the hug.

The woman smirked, probably at his appearance, and gave him a firm handshake, “Sergeant Unamo. Pleasure to meet you.”

The three exchanged pleasant conversation, with Brendan sharing in laughter more than he had in years to the point he felt his voice go raw from the sheer amount. They had gone from standing to sitting at a table farther to the side of the party so they could be shaded under a tree.

Phasma caught him up on her advancements, proudly stating that she had been approved to be Captain of her own squadron, which was the reason of her return. The squadron would be the second wave of troopers to successfully pass simulation training. Brendan felt his chest tighten with a twinge of jealousy that she would be the first entrusted with the Troopers but his secondary sense of pride in his friend dissipated the feeling just as quickly. He shifted in his seat, the collar of his coat squashing a bit as he pressed back against where he had hung it off his chair.

Sergeant Unamo briefly answered a comlink call then excused herself, leaving Phasma and Brendan to talk privately. Phasma’s jovial smile faltered a bit as she took Brendan’s hand.

“It has been a long time.” Phasma said.

Brendan squeezed her hand, “Yes, it has. I noticed you’re a little braver now than when you were at the academy.” He knew she would know what he was referencing.

Phasma smiled, “Well, nearly dying twice does tend to make one more likely to embrace themselves. Either that or fear themselves more.” Her smile dropped and her gaze turned serious, “which you, my friend, you look so lonely here. In the middle of a party and you seem as if not here. Where did he keep you for so long?”

Brendan sighed, “We ran to the Outer Rim, hid there for some time. Father planned what you see now and the troops you’re going to lead. Bounced around a few planets, including this one. Thankfully the New Republic is too cowardice to acknowledge what’s going on so life has not been too bad.” He removed his hands from hers and folded them in his lap.

Phasma frowned, “You know exactly what I’m asking.”

“How could I possibly know? I don’t read minds.” Brendan feigned interest at something at the distance.

She narrowed her eyes and grabbed his left hand, bringing it up and turning it palm up before yanking up his long sleeve. Halfway up Brendan’s forearm were a handful of raised cuts, long aged but still silvery against his pale skin. Brendan snatched his arm away and pulled back down the sleeve, refusing to look at her. The air hung heavy between them.

“Mostly stress relievers if that makes you feel any better.” Brendan muttered.

Phasma ran a hand through her hair and sat back in her chair, “I have a briefing tomorrow but afterwards I am free to come by your quarters. That is if you’re available.”

Brendan cocked an eyebrow, some of his dirtier humor showing, but Phasma responded with her own raised brow. Sergeant Unamo returned then, apologizing for having to take that call and her subsequent need to depart for the day.

“It’s all right, I must be going as well.” Phasma said, standing and smoothing out her dress.

Sergeant Unamo nodded, “Good bye, then. It was nice to meet you, Brendan. I hope to sometime see you again.”

“Perhaps.” Brendan said, shaking her hand and wishing her well.

The sergeant said farewell to Phasma after having her type in a comm number to her datapad. The two briefly allowed their hands to stray together before Phasma let her go and returned her attention to Brendan.

“I better go too. I’ll see you tomorrow, Phasma.” He threw his overcoat onto his shoulders, the material temporarily billowing as he did so, before he strode off.

\--

“Excuse me?” Brendan said, not quite believing what he had just heard.

“Your father wants us to marry and reproduce heirs.” Phasma repeated, sipping from her glass of water then placing it on its coaster on the transparisteel tabletop.

Brendan felt like his whole world had been flipped upside down. When he managed to find his voice he asked, “Does my father not realize after all this time that I do not fancy women that way?”

“Oh, no he knows. He told me he also knows I am really the only other female you’ve interacted with whom you haven’t had negative reactions. He was quite frank in saying he merely wanted grand-progeny.” Phasma said, her voice mimicking Brendol’s slightly at the last two words.

Brendan rolled her eyes, “That was only one other time and she was simply much too forceful. The reverse idea of men are able to be targeted is vastly under-recognized by my father.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

He did not dare mention to her that his father already knew about his proclivity for men. That dinner so many years back with the petulant little brat named Kylo he had been sworn to never speak of to anyone. Phasma looked passive, relaxed almost, in the face of his annoyance.

“And you’re totally fine with this… arrangement?” Brendan asked, looking at Phasma incredulously.

She snorted, rather ungainly, “Of course not. Plus it seems he’s totally ignoring your orientation.”

“Not surprising. He’ll probably demand I submit a sampling so you can have injections.”

Phasma wrinkled her nose, “Ok, when you put it that way it just makes us both sound like experimental breeders.”

“Isn’t that what he’s making us to be?” Hux retorted as he sunk back into his chair and rubbed his eyes, suddenly tired.

“Perhaps. We can become engaged for a few years, maybe see how that goes. It’d be enough to satisfy him for now since he at least realizes I don’t care for marriage.” Phasma suggested.

“Oh, because _you_ don’t, huh? Never wanted to ask me of my opinion on the matter, did he?” Hux asked, half-glaring at Phasma but not really blaming her.

Brendol Hux had always favored Phasma. She was large, sturdy, and a robust soldier who took her orders well and really only expressed differences when necessary - all the qualities that Brendol had wanted and not gotten in Brendan.

Brendan stood and paced side to side while Phasma followed him with her eyes.

“I see you still do your pacing routine.” she commented.

 

He stopped and stared aimlessly at a wall, his fingers digging into his palms. He knew she meant well, and had as little desire as himself for this union. Brendan might as well call it an arranged marriage for all his father’s underlying scheming.

“Here’s what we can do…” Brendan said, whipping around and facing Phasma who looked at him with open curiosity, “We’ll do the engagement. Make him satisfied. Between my and your work right now being crucial to the First Order no one will expect us to marry right away.”

Phasma nodded, “All right, and how are we going to swing that?”

“I’ll propose to you later this week. I have to get a ring first.” Brendan said, sitting down in his chair and picking up his datapad. He quickly typed up a reminder notice to look up wedding bands and looked up at her, “Don’t worry, I’ll make it nice so you can still wear it whenever you like after the fact.”

She gave him a lopsided smile, “Well, thanks for that. I’ll work very hard on my surprised face…. and insisting on traditional values of no bed-sharing until marriage.”

Brendan’s cheek twitched with annoyance at her prod but otherwise felt that the scheme would go fairly decently.

A sudden peep at his door alerted him to an entry request that he granted. At soon as the doors had opened an underling walked through, his black cap held nervously in his hands.

“What’s your name and business?” Brendan asked the man.

“Officer Mitaka, Sir.” he said, “I have a message for Captain Phasma and was informed she was here.”

“Go ahead.” Phasma said, giving Officer Mitaka a reassuring smile.

“Mr. Hux requires your assistance immediately. He would not tell me what about but simply to comm him and he will tell you.”

“Thank you, Officer. You are dismissed.” she said, standing and fixing her black uniform. After the officer left she made an off-hand comment, "I do think, my dear Brendan, I will acquire better armor soon. This black clothsack I wear never truly gives protection. “

Brendan couldn’t help the smile that came to his face as he said his goodbyes and returned his focus to his work. After about fifteen minutes of searching he found a suitable ring and placed an order while thinking of just exactly how does one propose to someone.

 

–

 

During the middle of his shift of going over blueprints for a proposed First Order weapon Brendan felt his commlink vibrate with an incoming call.

"Sir, you better come to the launching bay. We have a guest. He’s requested you specifically.” Phasma’s voice was on edge, almost disconcertingly so.

Brendan apologized to the others working alongside him and briskly walked to the bay, all while pretending not to be worried on why Phasma sounded like she had. When he arrived he quickly found out.

There sitting in the bay was a massive black Upsilon-class command shuttle. Its massive black durasteel wings towered above them and seemingly sucked up the bay’s lights in ways a ship should not have the ability to do. The ramp had been lowered, with a scant four passengers standing at its base and an additional in front of them. They were all dressed in black, along with differently designed black masks hiding their faces.

Phasma’s stormtroopers were lined up off to the side, tension obvious by the way their shoulders stiffened and fingers rested on their triggerguards. Phasma stood next to her squad leader, her face impassive but her eyes glancing towards Brendan in question.

“Hello. May I have the honor of asking who are you who sent for me?” Brendan asked, stepping forward to stand in front of the looming figure.

He had thrown on his blue coat in a flurry but he hoped that it but his matching blue cap would give his rank some sort of boost, especially since he was standing next to a person he had to look up at.

“Lord Ren” the person said, their voice distorted by the mask and a vocalizer. There was a certain clip to it that Brendan couldn’t quite place but nevertheless he pushed onwards.

“The fact you are in our hanger bay means you were granted approval, Lord Ren. As it did not come via myself then it was no doubt by Brendol Hux, yes?” Brendan said, using his father’s last name.

“Yes.” Lord Ren.

“You will need to follow me for a full meeting on your reasoning for being here. Your accompaniment are welcome to join.” Brendan stated, pleased that his voice did not waver as Lord Ren stepped closer, the distance between their bodies only a hands width apart.

“They will stay with my ship.” Lord Ren stated.

“If you wish. Follow me.” Brendan said, stepping to the side for Lord Ren to have a clear walking path.

Lord Ren tilted his head at this, as if he had just heard something interesting. Brendan tried to not let this bother him as much as it did, especially since again it felt oddly familiar. As Lord Ren stepped forward, his black robes fluttered enough for Brendan to glance at a holstered weapon.

“That will need to be inspected.” Brendan said, placing a hand on Lord Ren’s chest.

Lord Ren paused then reached into his robes to draw out what looked like to be a crossguard to a weapon but with substantial lack of weapon. Brendan furrowed his brows. With a flick of his hand Lord Ren ignited the blade, a blindingly brilliant and erratic red saberblade that had the troopers lifting their weapons in stance.

“Stand down!” Brendan and Phasma simultaneously shouted.

The troops obeyed, uniformly snapping their blasters back into position and repositioning into a relatively eased stance. The bouncing blade emitted a noise that put Brendan’s teeth on edge and he felt a pressure behind his eyes.

Brendan glared at Lord Ren, “Put that way. I do not want destruction on this ship.”

Lord Ren made an odd huff-noise under his mask, but he acquiesced, flicking the switch again and silencing the blade. The noise stopped but that pressure was still there in his head. Brendan pinched the bridge of his nose but still it did not go away. He tried to recall when the last time he had such a sudden pressing migraine. It was then realization hit him and he stared up at Lord Ren in horror.

“Lord Ren…”

“Yes, Major Hux?”

“What is your first name?”

Brendan could practically hear the smile as Lord Ren replied, “Kylo.”


	5. Lost in A Mound of Death [mid-late 20s]

The next few years proved to be hellish.

 

Not only did tensions arise between Brendan and Ren, he quickly dropped the ‘Lord’ after finding out who he was, but as the time went by the engagement between Brendan and Phasma wavered. The first three years had gone by smoothly, with them interacting as any other engaged couple. Brendan even insured that there was no small amount of grandeur when he proposed to Phasma. The rings he had bought for themselves he had even inlaid with trackers in the center jewels.

 

His own ring, a simple silvery band with a pure diamond in the center, he actually wore but as he consistently kept his gloves on it was rarely ever seen. The few times he ever removed his gloves in briefings or hearings had earned him a few pointed looks. Despite his disgust of the whole ordeal Brendan found himself able to smile and to speak highly of Phasma, though he was highly aware it usually centered on her military prowess rather than her beauty as most of the older Colonels and Admirals seemed intent on knowing about.

 

Brendan knew Phasma wore hers in more relaxed circumstances, such as formal parties and dress down days, but he guessed that when she was in the field she removed it. The jewels on it were blue and green on either side with a larger white round jewel in the center that reminded Brendan of Phasma’s home planet. Three jewels directly underneath them crudely reminded Brandan of Correllian brandy with their complexion but he kept that to himself.

 

This most recent year she had upgraded her armor from standard Trooper gear to a chrome encasing that Brendan found mesmerizing. He had asked her once where she had acquired the material, which was rather unique and rare - therefore expensive, but she had not answered. Nowadays she was never seen out of quarters without her full uniform.

 

Unfortunately the small rule they had placed of no talk of engagement and personal life while on duty turned into a full time lack of conversation at all. Going along with the idea of no premarital affiliations that means Brendan rarely ever actually got a chance to speak personally with Phasma. The whole scheme, great at first for the faux-relationship, was slowly disintegrating their actual relationship.

 

The _Finalizer_ , the ship granted specifically to Brendan when he achieved the rank of General earlier that year, was rather large and that made her patrols excessive. He felt more than a little sad at the fact their friendship had come to this but, for the time being, it kept Brendol off of both of them on the demands of grandchildren.

 

Without warning during a meeting Brendan received an emergency holo message that informed him his father had been found dead. At first Brendan wondered if a stray bounty hunter or assassin had caught up with his father but he was simultaneously surprised and disappointed to know it had been due to a heart attack.

 

 _I guess the man was only human after all,_ Brendan thought to himself a little more harshly than intended.

 

The subsequent holo message stated that Brendan would be required to retrieve Brendol’s Will which had, unbeknownst to Brendan, been renewed annually and was already ready for inspection by a lawyer. Brendan relayed this to Phasma and asked her to join him, in case his father has stipulated anything concerning her as well. She hesitantly agreed and met him in more casual attire in the launch bay for the flight to Coruscant where the lawyer awaited with the Will.

 

When they arrived at the lawyer’s office it became an informal affair. Apparently the lawyer was one of the few people left who Brendol felt was a close enough friend as every piece of the Will was in their possession. Brendol stipulated quite clearly about information concerning the Trooper program specifically being the property of both Brendan and Phasma, as well as any descendants they may have. Brendan rolled his eyes and passed that data chip over for Phasma to keep a hold on. When they returned to the ship Brendan would make sure it would be sealed away.

 

Unsurprisingly a fraction of Brendol’s wealth had been left to Phasma specifically, more than likely under the guise of money needed for raising children. Brendan once more passed the data chip to Phasma and she pocketed it after ogling the amount of digits.

 

The next part of Brendol’s Will did come as a surprise as the lawyer unlocked a safe and withdrew a medium-sized but sturdy-looking rectangular metal box with a top latch and lock that was placed in front of Brendan.

 

“What is this?” Brendan asked, eyeing the box with concern.

 

The lawyer presented a key, an actual honest to the Maker key, to Brendan and stated, “Your father said that this box would hold answers to questions you yourself may not have ever known to ask. This key unlocks it, but he forewarns that if you were to open this you will forever be closing him out.”

 

Brendan’s hand shook as he took the key, his fingers closing around it to feel the cold metal bite into his palm as he asked the lawyer to proceed with the other details of the will. He slipped the key into his pocket, not wanting to be rid of it but not necessarily wanting to see it at the moment.

 

The entire return flight was spent staring at the box, the key once more finding its way in his grip, and Brendan considering the consequences of opening it….and of not opening it.

 

“Place this in my private quarters.” Brendan said to a pair of troopers that greeted them in the launch bay. The nodded and obeyed his command while Phasma looked at him with concern.

 

“I suppose…” Phasma said, her right hand coming up to touch the ring on her left finger, “That since he has passed you do not want to keep up the charade any longer?”

 

Brendan looked at her and removed his gloves before looking down at his own ring. Phasma look surprised for a moment to note the indentation left on his finger from continual wearing and covered it up, but not quickly enough for it to go unnoticed.

 

“Perhaps it would be better. I know you have had to keep yourself from someone you have been wanting to be with...for quite a while because of this.” Brendan said, twisting the ring in habit as he spoke.

 

He had found out the ring twisting satisfied his need to stim instead of leaving more marks on his palms or wasting energy with pacing and he was unsure if he would actually give up wearing it now. Phasma saw the translated nervous tick and smiled softly, enveloping his long thing fingers between her own much broader hands.

 

“And you, my friend, can perhaps pursue the person you have been eyeing as well.”

 

Brendan stared at her, “I do not even know who you are talking about.”

 

Phasma gave him one of her signature looks of disbelief, her eyes flicking past his shoulder in the direction of the ramp then back to his face as she released his hands, “Oh, yes you do.”

 

Brendan was about to give back a sharp retort when Ren’s voice carried up the ship’s ramp, “General, I need to speak with you.”

 

Least to say the look on Brendan’s face was mild annoyance and resignation, “One moment, Ren.”

 

Phasma slipped past him, evidently wishing to don her armor as soon as possible, but did give him a final look over her shoulder as if Brendan could really read minds and consequently who she meant. As Brendan stepped down from the ship he met with Ren, who awaited at the base. Although Ren was masked Brendan could tell by the minute shift in posture that Ren was becoming more impatient with waiting.

 

“What do you want, Ren?”

 

“Supreme Leader Snoke requests our presence in the holochamber.” Ren said, turning on his heel and obviously expecting Brendan to catch up.

 

With little choice Brendan did just that, power-walking to catch up to Ren, “Did he say anything about this meeting?”

 

Ren shook his head and continued to stomp down the corridor to the holochamber. It was only at the door that he paused for Brendan to catch up before slipping inside, the general quick on his heels.

 

The looming figure of Supreme Leader Snoke flickered as he greeted them. It had been years since Brendan had seen the Supreme Leader’s face. In fact, his ears burned slightly with the remembrance, it had been when he and Ren had first met. He eyed the man next to him out of the corner of his eye, aware that that masked face was tilted upwards at the Supreme Leader but the wearer more than likely had Brendan in his peripheral anyways.

 

Realization of Phasma’s words struck him as if he had been slapped and it was only self-discipline and will that he resisted an audible gasp and the rising heat to his face. Ren paused in his conversation long enough for Brendan to wonder if was reading his mind but continued speaking to the Supreme Leader as if nothing happened.

 

The conversation was thankfully brief, with only a few rudimentary questions about the final selection process of the location of their planned base. Brendan used this as a distraction to pull his thoughts away from Ren. When the discussions were finished the Supreme Leader bid farewell to Ren and to Brendan in turn before the holoprojection winked out with an audible buzz noise that faded into the low hum of the surrounding ship.

 

The two stood there in silence for a moment, Ren’s eyes still lingered on the projection pad while Brendan assessed the cavernous ceiling. It took a sharp turn on Brendan’s part, the heel of his boot making a satisfactory _click_ on the flooring to stir Ren back into reality. Standing side by side, enough to look over to his right at the knight, Brendan felt an odd mixture of feelings and considered Phasma’s words. Instead of expressing anything he walked away, his coat softly swaying on his shoulders.

 

\--

The box had been placed in his private quarters, as ordered. It sat near the door in a set aside cubby space for such personal deliveries and seemed to have its own presence that was slowly eating up the room. Despite how hard Brendan tried to focus on his work his eyes kept flitting back to that box until he could not stand it any longer.

 

He hauled the thing onto his desk after clearing off anything important and withdrew the key that he had slipped into his pocket earlier that day. He paused to observe the key. It had a skeleton key like structure, with its bow having intricate swirls while the bit had a hollowed out center that resembled a tilted cross. Brendan wasn’t sure what type of metal had been used but it looked naturally dark, as if already rusted, though the key felt smooth and as polished as ever in his hands.[ *](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/90/ab/69/90ab691b5acacf0b5a41ba2fcaeebd52.jpg)

 

What surprised him about the key was its size. He could easily close his fingers around it, curl them close to his palm, and not have the key bite into his skin. Yet it was this key, so small and seemingly benevolent, that if used would possibly turn his whole world upside down.

 

As he inserted the key into the lock there was a sudden peep at his door. Brendan paused, considering sending whoever it was away, but resigned that thought and keyed access from his datapad to open the door.

 

Ren stood there, mask already in his hands, “May I enter?”

 

“Sure.” Brendan said, not caring for formalities at the moment.

 

Ren furrowed his brow. He had never heard casual tones like that from Brendan before but he stepped inside anyways, placing his helmet down on the cubby space’s top.

 

“Is there something you want?” Brendan asked, clearly irritated.

 

Ren paused and looked past Brendan at the box. Instead of answering he asked back, “What’s that?”

 

“It’s a box, Ren.” Brendan managed to say with some venom in his voice.

 

Ren did not seem particularly perturbed and stepped closer. Brendan tensed up but he highly doubted that his current appearance of a standard v-neck black shirt and black trousers seemed anything threatening.

 

“Distress.” Ren said suddenly, looking at Brendan.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“There was a sense of severe distress coming from your quarters. Usually there is not.” Ren said as if it explained everything.

 

Brendan felt himself become very tired at the prospect of somehow being monitored, by Ren no less, “Yes, and you’re not helping.”

 

Ren twirled a finger, turning the key in its lock and making the first of four inner mechanisms slide into place. Brendan quickly placed his hand over the key, securing it in place.

 

“This is my possession. If anyone’s to open it it will be me.” Brendan said, glaring at Ren.

 

Ren sat on Brendan’s bed as if he had every right to and simply watched. Brendan wanted to scream.

“I was wrong. The distress isn’t directly coming from you but from something in that.” Ren said, his dark eyes glittering with interest and, if Brendan guessed correctly, a faint trace of apprehension.

 

Brendan’s hand, still on the key, shook slightly at the thought of something in a _box_ seeming cautionary to a Force-user. The words escaped his mouth before he could help it:

 

“Stay here then when I open it, but I need to open it.”

 

Ren’s hand drifted down to his saber belt as he nodded. Brendan swallowed and slowly turned the key.

 

The second mechanism slid into place, a hollow thunk reverberating around the box, and quickly transitioned into the third mechanism which made only the slightest sighs of metal gears relaxing. The final mechanism was tougher, taking all of Brendan’s concentration to turn the key and finally be rewarded with the box lid unclasping with a satisfactory hiss.  

 

A sudden chill washed over Brendan and the hairs on the back of his neck and on his forearms stood up on end. Out of the corner of his eye Brendan could see Ren’s hand idly standing by his saber, ready for anything.

 

Brendan lifted the lid to see dozens of black leather-bound notebooks stacked meticulously, an embossed series of numbers stamped into the fronts as he pulled them out. Next that he saw were loose leafs of flimsi with scrawled handwriting that Brendan recognized as his father’s. What truly got his attention was under yet another stack of notebooks was an eerie blue glow pulsing softly. Brendan carefully removed the things out of the way and picked up a palm-sized, glowing polyhedron.

 

The noise that Ren made nearly caused Brendan to drop it but instead of concern on Ren’s face there was only pure astonishment.

 

“What is this?” Brendan asked, tilting his hands to look at the polyhedron more and only stopping when he thought he saw whatever color left in Ren’s face completely drain away, “Should I not be touching it…?”

 

“It’s a…” the words wouldn’t come from Ren’s mouth and he just sat there, agape in complete astonishment. Only the impatient tap of Brendan’s free fingers against his desk drew him out of his reverie long enough to look at Brendan directly in the eyes, “It’s a Jedi Holocron…they contain vast knowledge on training methods and ways and if my knowledge is correct it’s the very last one in the entire galaxy…”

 

“Jedi Holocron, huh?” Brendan turned it over in his hands again, looking for a way to open it. He started to randomly tap on sections of it before spreading his palms wide on either side, balancing it there and thinking.

 

“They can only be opened by --” Ren started to say when there was a soft click.

 

Brendan smirked and his fingers swiftly descended on prying open the surrounding fixture of the polyhedron to access the cube underneath. The soft glow lit up Brendan’s face in a swath of blue that made Ren’s blood turn cold.

 

“Brendan.” Ren said, for once using his first name and catching the man’s attention, “Holocrons can only be opened by Force-users….”

 

“Nonsense, I just opened this one, didn’t I?” Brendan stated, as if he had done nothing else than open another folder for the day.

 

Suddenly Brendan froze in place, his body tensing up as a searing pain arched its way up his hand where it touched the bare surface of the holocron to his head. It was too sudden and severe he did not even have time to scream before he fell to the floor, his body convulsing but his hand gripped tightly around the holocron. Ren leapt from the bed to Brendan’s side, attempting to use the Force to tug the polyhedron from Brendan’s grasp. The more he tried the more severe the convulsions, making Ren back off and watch with resigned horror as Hux finally stopped and lay still on the ground, his hand relaxing enough for Ren to yank the holocron away and seal it back into its protective shell and place it back into the box.

 

Brendan was pale, paler than usual anyways, and his eyes wide with shock. Ren scooped him up and carried him to bed, placing him down gently and checking his vitals which were surprisingly not deviated very much from normal levels. Ren stayed for a little while, watching Brendan finally relax and slip into sleep.

 

Suddenly, in what was around the middle of the night, Brendan awoke to see Ren still there asleep in his desk chair. Brendan sat up slowly and Ren’s eyes snapped open.

 

“Are you all right?” Ren asked, his worry palpable.

 

Brendan frowned. _Palpable?_ He breathed in deeply, aware of a heightened sense and yes, the air of worry hanging heavy enough in the air he might as well be drinking it. He felt a low buzz in his head, as if he just drank back a few shots, and looked at Ren’s seemingly too-close face.

 

“You will not speak of this to anyone, Ren.” Brendan commanded, gripping Ren by the front of his robes.

 

“But…”

 

“Swear it!” Brendan ordered through gritted teeth.

 

Ren sagged into Brendan’s grip, frowning slightly, “I swear.”

 

Brendan released him and pushed him away, “Leave.”

 

Without further argument Ren did leave, picking up his helmet on the way out and stealing one last backward glance at Brendan before the doors slid smoothly shut.

 

Brendan hobbled over to his desk and found a random journal. It wasn’t the very first embossed with 001 but more down the lines of 048. He isn’t sure why he picked it but he let it be, deciding to look into it under the instinctual urge he felt rising up. He cracked it open, aware of every minute detail on the paper’s texture, scent, and gods _even the sound_ of the rustling under his fingertips as he flipped to a random page.

           

            Brendan Hux

            Age: 3.5

           

_Brendan has made remarkable progress concerning the Judgment tests. No longer do I have to persuade him with what colors he would associate with approval and disapproval. He has picked up on my prior reactions what colors I do or do not wish to see and has acted accordingly..._

 

Brendan stopped reading and narrowed his eyes. His father made logs of him as he was maturing? He flipped another few pages, the date saying that it was about two weeks after the previous entry.

 

_Today had a surprising turn that I in no way had anticipated. As Brendan was playing with his toys several started to float a few centimeters from the floor only to crash back down as soon as I noticed. Intrigued I asked him to do it again, I wanted to see what he was doing. It took a few minutes of coaxing, including with the promise of letting him fiddle with the schematics map he enjoys already, but slowly he levitated the objects. The effect only lasted a few seconds, if even that much, before he became very sleepy. His mother was Force-sensitive, that much I knew, but it seems that Brendan may have inherited a stronger link to the Force. It’s an odd thing the Force. Jedi Kenobi and Jedi Skywalker used it often and it was something I never quite understood, all that magic nonsense. There is a man I have only recently met who may be able to answer my questions surrounding this matter._

 

The entry ended abruptly at this and the next was only another report on Brendan’s progress in another test that Brendol had been conducting. Confused, Brendan set down the notebook and picked another at random. 

 

            Brendan Hux

            Age 9

_Brendan’s Force-powers waned as he grew but apparently his Force-sensitivity did not. His unit commander commented to me today about the uncanny ability for Brendan to sense punches or kicks during sparring sessions, to the point that he was considering marking Brendan for cheating. One larger concern is Brendan’s apparent inability to properly shut out what he claims to be “hums” which persist in his mind when he appeared for a physical. After investigating I summarize that these “hums” are more than likely the surface thoughts of his fellow students. I have finalized today a trip to the Academy. Brendan will consider this a formal visit, Commandment to pupils, and I will take him with me on what the rest of the Academy will assume to be a father-son weekend._

 

Brendan wanted to stop reading, to remain ignorant of whatever it was that was coming next, but he hurriedly flipped through the pages until he caught a familiar name.

 

…... _I surely do not like this place. The planet of Mustafar is covered in lava, the smoke-filled atmosphere so thick that the filters periodically remind about toxicity levels. I donned a mask and suit before helping Brendan into his own and we took a speeder to a citadel deep within one of the dormant areas of the volcanic range. I sit here taking notes now while Brendan is within an even deeper chamber having council with Supreme Leader Snoke who has promised to me that something will be done._

 

Brendol’s notes veer off-topic, talking on various other things including Brendan’s current test scores and other trivial matters. At the end of this writing log the handwriting goes from its calm, almost deceptively neat structure to a slightly more stilted, as if Brendol were holding the stylus too tightly.

           

_I do not know what he has done to Brendan but Brendan left the inner chamber and looked at me as if he did not know me for a few moments. Realization seemed to dawn on him and he embraced me, a luxury I generally did not indulge but I was too surprised at the time. I asked him if the “hums” were gone and he gave me a confused look. I asked once more, not liking that he was seemingly to play the fool, but Brendan honestly did not know what I was talking about. Nor did he seem particularly aware of why we were there either. Everything else in his thoughts was parallel to the latest reports from the Academy so he had not lost his entire memory…. Just the memory of this trip and of the existence of his Force-sensitivity. I suppose Supreme Leader Snoke either managed to seal away or to entirely remove them, options that for now are suitable._

 

The entry ended just like that. Precise, methodical, as if Brendol had filed a notice about a changed cargo order to something he did not order but needed anyways. Brendan tilted his chair back, letting the journal fall to the floor with a surprisingly heavy thud as pure exhaustion overtook him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are what Hux's and Phasma's rings look like: https://40.media.tumblr.com/58bd36c7b04c1241aa8ad48d8c066da1/tumblr_o1bssdVHUp1qas1mto10_1280.jpg (picture source from  
> http://sosuperawesome.tumblr.com/post/137785692121)
> 
> Here is the design I based the key off of (in case you didn't see the hyperlinked asterisk!): https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/90/ab/69/90ab691b5acacf0b5a41ba2fcaeebd52.jpg
> 
> The next/last chapter will probably be shorter than this one...I'd say this starts right at around Brendan being 25/26 and ends in about that same time. The next chapter will pick up during his early 30s which leads into the TFA canon!


	6. Without a Move [TFA Canon Compliant p1]

At times General Hux wished the interrogation room did not have its sound-proof paneling. Ren had sent him a comm requesting his presence outside of the chamber, stipulating that in short time the pilot would give up answers, but as he shifted his position he wondered just how long that would be. Any time that a prisoner was resistive to the truth serums and they had to be interrogated by Ren himself always led to screaming and eventual answers.

Only once before had the general had the time to stand in one of Ren’s interrogations. The memory of echoed screaming made his skin prickle with excitement. Just as his mind had started to wander back to that interrogation the door slid open and at a glance he saw Ren emerge, confidence in his step. 

“It’s in a droid. A BB unit.”

“Well, then, if it’s on Jakku we’ll soon have it,” Brendan replied, offering the barest trace of a smile at this shred of good news.

“I’ll leave that to you,” Ren coldly said, briskly walking past Brendan to leave him standing there in partial confusion, the small smile slipping from his face.

He grit his jaw and turned away, not bothering to pursue Ren, to dispatch a squadron to the surface of the planet. He knew that there were only so few support facilities on Jakku so there would be only few places to search. After ensuring a squadron was dispatched to the surface Brendan returned to the command center.

No sooner had he arrived on the center when things started to go terribly wrong. 

“Sir!” Officer Thannisson announced, swiveling in his chair, “We have an unsanctioned departure from Bay Two.” 

Brendan sneered, knowing that the only person who could be capable of such a thing was the earlier imprisoned Resistance pilot. Yet, for all this, he did wonder how he went from prisoner to escapee so readily. The only answer could be that he had an accomplice, one of which could only be one of their own. Brendan watched with interest as the TIE fighter came loose of its anchor but started to aim towards the control center. He managed to duck away in time but he feared that the officers who had been there before were no longer, their places turned into plasma-hot residuals from the fighter’s blast.

Shortly after leaving the bay the prisoner and accomplice did not go into hyperspace as Brendan thought they would - instead they turned back and fired on the underbelly of the _Finalizer_ , knocking out a few of the guns and damaging some of the hull.

 “Sir, they’ve taken out our turbo lasers” one of his technicians said, glancing up at his General with a mix of fear and anxiety.

“Use the ventral cannons,” Hux ordered to Lieutenant Mitaka as he strode along the center.

 The lieutenant nodded and hurriedly pressed different buttons in front of him, “Yessir, bringing them online.”

Ren swept in from the door and joined him on the walkway, his rage bristling in the air, “General Hux, is it the Resistance pilot?”

As loathe as Brendan was to admit he nodded, “Yes, and he had help... from one of our own. We're checking the registers now to identify which stormtrooper it was.”

Ren turned away from him but his voice was clear, “The one from the village: FN-2187.”

Brendan glanced his way, unnerved slightly at how he managed to figure that out before his staff, but took his word for it. Captain Phasma had overheard and was already working on pulling up the trooper’s information data.

“Sir, ventral cannons hot,” Lieutenant Mitaka reported.

“Fire.” Brendan commanded as he clenched his hands behind his back.

Brendan could feel even through his boots the vibrations of the ventral cannons shooting at the TIE fighter. It pained him partly to have it fired upon since it was one of the newer Special Forces units but he would rather see it burn to smolders than be in the hands of a Resistance pilot.

As the firing continued Brendan joined Captain Phasma to look at the informational data pulled up for the defected stormtrooper. As he looked over the data given for FN-2187 he knit his brow in frustration.

“FN-2187 reported to my division, was evaluated, and sent to reconditioning,” Captain Phasma informed him, her voice carefully even.

Brendan tightened the grip he held on his hands behind his back, “No prior signs of non-conformity?”

Captain Phasma shook her head, “This was his first offence.”

Suddenly a soft looping beep resounded as Chief Petty Officer Unamo called for him, “General, they’ve been hit.”

Brendan walked over to the console, observing the stats, “Destroyed?”

Officer Unamo frowned, “Disabled. They’ve headed back to Jakku. The fighter is projected to crash in the Goazon Badlands.”

Brendan straightened, “They were going back for the droid.” he shifted his attention to one of his other captains, “Send a squad to the wreckage.” he turned his attention back to the trooper’s stats but his thoughts were interrupted.

“Finding a flaw in your training methods won’t help recover the droid,” Ren stated.

“And yet, there are larger concerns,” Hux retorted, matching step with Ren, “Supreme leader Snoke's orders were explicit: capture the droid if we can but destroy it if we must.”

“Just how capable _are_ your soldiers, General?”

“My men are exceptionally trained; programmed from birth...”

“They’re obviously skilled at committing high treason. Perhaps Supreme Leader Snoke should consider using a clone army…”

Brendan practically snarled, the reference of using a clone army in the place of his father’s life long work striking a chord within him, “I won't have you question my methods."

“Then they should have no problem retrieving the droid. Unharmed.” Ren said, edging closer to Brendan’s personal space.

Brendan curled a lip down distastefully, “Careful, Ren that your _personal interests_ do not interfere with orders from Supreme Leader Snoke.”

“I want that map…” Ren said slowly, as if making sure Brendan understood every word, and stepped forward to be in his space, “For your sake, I suggest you get it.” with that he brushed past Brendan, clipping his shoulder on purpose.

Brendan flexed his jaw, determined to not lose face in front of the crew stationed in the command center. He knew where Ren was going. When he became enraged like this he did, at times, see the liberty of letting himself outside of the compound. It suited Brendan just fine as he had a meeting to attend to rather than having to look after yet another one of Ren’s rages.

 

\---

 

The meeting droned on, highlighted only at times when his irritation spiked. Brendan knew the cause but stamped it down, using his iron will to focus on the task at hand.

“Sir, our financial investors have been informed of the latest progress.” Lieutenant Mitaka informed from his seated position at the oblong table, “A few, however, wish to make a planetside venture to view what they have invested within the next day or two.”

Brendan sat at the head of the table, the triple silver band on his left arm resting on the tabletop the only indicator of his rank, and mulled over his lieutenant’s words. He stood and clasped his hands behind his back. He strode over to a transparisteel window that gave an expansive look to the snowy planet.

“I think that would be a brilliant idea for them to see with their very own eyes what their credits have funded. Send out a transmission immediately to those who are requesting such a visit that it is enthusiastically supported.” 

One of the other lieutenants, a more headstrong man with a thick jaw and in Hux’s opinion a sometimes thicker skull with only his analytical mind buried underneath his saving grace, piped up, “And what if they are, in fact, spies sent by General Organa, Sir?”

General Hux turned on his heel and smiled cruelly, “Then I am sure they would enjoy a pleasantly scenic route outside.”

The lieutenant swallowed and nodded his head.

“Is there anything else to add?” the general asked, looking at each of the present fifteen members one by one.

Each gave a shake of their heads.

“Then this meeting is adjourned. Return to your stations,” General Hux ordered as he turned back to look outdoors, then paused, “Except for you Lieutenant Mitaka, I need to speak with you.”

After the room had cleared Lieutenant Mitaka strode up to General Hux’s side, “Yes, Sir?”

General Hux looked over the landscape, his gaze fixing on something further down the snowbanks, a flash of red and a swath of black hastily moving against the powdery-white, “If you would please ensure that Lord Ren has adequate supplies awaiting him when he returns. He will be in a mood.”

“Yes...Sir.” the lieutenant said, inclining his head and sending a com for a droid to prepare the items. After the man had left Brendan let his shoulders relax.

Two years ago since his awakened powers made him more aware he had accidentally latched onto the only other Force-user present in that he was acutely aware of the other man’s sufferings even at this distance. He had studied all of the notebooks, roughly 300 hundred of them, from front to back, eyes straining at minuscule notations even within the margins to figure out more about his abilities, but had little discovery on how he obtained his powers other than that it originated in his mother’s bloodline.

Ren had been level-headed enough to approach him later that week, after he had had time to process things a bit better, to offer a temperance to his abilities, especially as it was only sensitivity rather than full-fledged power. When Brendan asked further Ren explained that he would feel emotions, lives and deaths, connectivity with those around him, but he could not actively use the Force.

Brendan had, in a desperate attempt to shut out the invading senses, allowed Ren into his mind, into his very conscious, to mask Brendan’s abilities to Snoke and other Force-users but an accidental bond had been made that, according to Ren, caused them to become linked. Some sympathetic feelings seemed to seep through between Brendan and his cohorts such as Lieutenant Mitaka who had several minute nervous quakes every few minutes but they only made him more irritated rather than inclined to do something.

The most that Brendan could gather as he studied more into his father’s books was that his father had arranged for Snoke to mask and lock away his powers then make him forget. Brendan went even as far as asking Ren his opinion and only got a shrug in response. Beyond that they had not discussed anything, both in too much wariness of Snoke overhearing that Brendan’s powers had awoken.

Yet for all this it seemed an odd reason that Brendol had stated in his journals he wanted Force-sensitive children recruited to forget that aspect of themselves. Brendan thought it would have been better to have on their side those who could use their powers for the benefit of the First Order. But as he had no say at the time he wondered how many within the current and prior ranks had been Force-sensitive and if, by correlation, that matched with the recent defection of FN-2187.

Brendan decided to put these thoughts to the side and attend to his next meeting, intent on preparing for the weapon’s first firing.

 

\---

 

Lord Ren was cold, soaked now that the snow was melting from him, and more than a little belligerent. As soon as he re-entered the Base compound Brendan ran right into him, having come from his latest engineering briefing, and immediately demanded Brendan follow him.

Brendan rolled his eyes and considered ignoring Ren’s demand yet he acquiesced, falling in stride with Ren but opting not to speak quite yet. When they reached Ren’s quarters Brendan did talk.

“Today I was informed of our investor’s becoming interested in having personal visits to Starkiller. One of my lieutenants worries that an ‘investor’ may actually be a spy of General Organa’s. If this is to go through, which is best in the eyes of investors and soldiers alike, you will need to be present to check for any… untruthfulness.”

Ren grunted and shucked his belt and outer robes before peeling off the layers of inner robes until he was left standing in his underthings and shivering as feeling returned to his extremities. Brendan cocked an eyebrow at Ren’s shameless stripping but said nothing on it. Through their connection Brendan felt a low tingling, almost burning, sensation in his hands and feet but he ignored it as it was a too-familiar expectation from when Ren returned from his outdoor ventures.

“I need an actual verbal agreement from you, Ren.”

“Yes, fine, I will.”

Brendan narrowed his eyes, “What’s got you on edge, hm? Thought you always like the opportunity to poke around in people’s heads. Did our prisoner earlier tire you too much?”

Ren rounded on him, a few quick strides closing the space to leave them glaring at one another a mere few centimeters apart. Brendan did not even blink, his gaze fixating on Ren’s in a silent challenge of wills. Through their link Brendan felt Ren’s agitation and seething resentment over something. Just as quickly Ren separated the space and went into the refresher.

The silence Brendan was left in was interrupted by the door chirping an entry request. Brendan granted access so the earlier requested droid could be let through with hot teas and foods which it left on Ren’s small table. Brendan doubted Ren would ever thank him, always too seemingly confident in his Force-abilities to keep his internal levels in check. He followed the little droid out, intent on talking to Ren later when he was perhaps in a more talking mood, though he highly doubt that would be possible.

A twinge of annoyance not his own throbbed at his temple as he made his way to the command center, intent on putting as much distance between himself and Ren before he had to deal with him once again in the holoroom.

 


	7. Strained Breath [TFA Canon Compliant p2]

Brendan hated this chamber. The way it was shaped to its dark interior. It was one of the rare pieces of the Base that he tried to avoid. Yet for all this what he truly hated was the holoprojection staring down at them with contempt.

“The droid will soon be delivered to the Resistance...Leading them to the last Jedi.” Supreme Leader Snoke rasped out, leaning forward so his enormous form loomed menacingly over them both, “If Skywalker returns the new Jedi will rise.”

Ren made no reply, his mask turned upwards but if from the way Brendan could tell Ren may be side-eying him as they stood at attention to Snoke’s reprimand.

Brendan kept his eyes affixed on Snoke’s gruesome face as he revealed it to the light of the chamber, “Supreme Leader, I take full responsibility…”

“General!” Snoke interrupted, standing and partially blocking out the projector’s light.

Brendan gritted his jaw, unable to hold back the minute twitches on his face. He abhorred being interrupted, he did not care by who or for what purpose.

“Our strategy must now change…” Snoke continued, looking up and past them in contemplation.

“The weapon...” Brendan suggested, tilting his head up despite already leaning it back, “It is ready. I believe it time to use it. We shall destroy the government that supports the resistance: the Republic. Without their _friends_ to protect them the Resistance will be vulnerable and we will stop them before they reach Skywalker.”

 Snoke sat himself back down in his throne and gave a dismissive hand to the general, “Go. Oversee preparations.”

 “Yes, Supreme Leader.” Brendan replied, smug that he managed to make Snoke sit back down in acquisition.

Brendan looked to his left, to cast his smug look over to Ren who only returned it with a head turn of his own, his expression hidden behind his mask. It mattered little but Brendan could tell from the slight raise of his shoulders that he had gotten the better of Ren. He turned sharply on his heels, his greatcoat flaring slightly as he took his leave from the chamber.

Luckily for him, the preparations for the weapon’s firing coincided with his earlier problem of how or when to bring sponsors to the Base. During the time it took to finalize his orders from Snoke to now he had managed to send out a comm to those who wish to participate. Most of those who funded were from the Outer Rim themselves and of that half were already intent on arriving so transport was, to say the least, quite quickly arranged.

Now a day and a half later, he observed the speech platform from where he stood near the massive First Order emblazoned banners and felt a swell of pride. Row upon row of white uniformed stormtroopers were the patiently waiting audience, with TIE fighters and other war machines lining the sides of the open space on either side.

Up on the platform were all his lieutenants, officers, and guests. The last of the group were only recently approved by Ren during their arrival first to the _Finalizer_ then later accompanied to the surface. So far, everything was as it should be yet he couldn’t shake the tendrils of mixed feelings rolling off Ren to himself, even at this distance. Or perhaps the feelings were his own. He was no longer quite sure.

“Feeling nervous?” Captain Phasma asked, suddenly behind him. She had her helmet off and gave him a look that he supposed was to be comforting.

Brendan turned and smiled, a deadly mixture of anxiety and excitement flushing his face, “Somewhat. I have rehearsed several times.” he adjusted the microphone piece resting just inside his collar next to his left ear, tapping it once then twice and only satisfied when a technician gave him a thumbs up.

Phasma clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a kiss on the forehead, something she had not done in a long time, before putting her helmet back on. After she had secured it into place she added, “See you on the other side.”

The way she said it seemed ominous but Brendan ignored the feeling, mentally steeling himself before walking out onto the platform. He nodded at his officers and lieutenants who were in neat rows then gave another small nod to Phasma who stood alongside his upper level staff just in front of the officers. At the end of the terrace he took his position, his hands neatly folded behind his back.

His voice was amplified several times over as he delivered his speech, “Today is the end of the Republic! The end of a regime that acquiesces to disorder! At this very moment, in a system far from here the New Republic _LIES_ to the _GALAXY_ while secretly supporting the treachery of the loathsome Resistance.” he paused for effect, to let his words settle in before he continued, “This fierce machine which you have built, upon which we stand, will bring an end to the Senate! To their cherished fleet! All remaining systems will _bow_ to the First Order! And will remember this…” he took a deep breath, tendrils of wrath and hatred seeping through his voice as he pointed a perfunctory finger into the air, “ _as the last day of the Republic!”_

Without missing a beat the legions of soldiers in front of him cried out in unison, raising their balled left fist into the air with confidence and obeisance. A notification peeped in General Hux’s ear, informing him that everything was ready for the chosen target: the Hosnian system.

“FIRE!” Brendan practically screamed as the troops turned 180 to face the weapon.

The ground shifted under his feet and Brendan felt in a flashed moment several feelings all at once: pride, wrath, contempt, and a twinge of something else he couldn’t quite place. He figured that this twinge was the result of something Ren was feeling as the powerful weapon would have no doubt be shooting past the _Finalizer_ by now.

As the red beam arced upwards through the sky he couldn’t suppress the shiver that passed through him. He knew for a fact it wasn’t due to the cold of the planet. The sheer power coursing through planet, translating up his legs and seemingly directly to his thundering heart, was staggering and addicting. He felt his teeth chatter as the weapon made contact to the five planets and several of his troopers down below stumbled back, the recoil of the weapon making the whole area seem as if suffering an earthquake.

When the weapon finally died down then sputtered out its final drops of solar energy the planet became eerily quiet. Not one person spoke and even the wind had temporarily halted.

Suddenly cheers erupted from the troopers, making Brendan smile. Behind him, Brendan heard the beginnings of buzzing conversation by his fellow officers and of the guests present. What he could catch seemed very positive indeed to the prowess of the machine before them. Brendan felt color tinge his cheeks as he swallowed down the lump in his throat. He faced them, shaking hands and saying thanks to those who spoke with him before he disappeared behind the platform.

For a brief moment he wished Ren was here with him, though he knew the man had seen everything from the bridge of the Finalizer. Their link would have no doubt made the feeling of the planet’s firing better two-fold. He brushed away the feeling of vague sentimentality to focus back on the task at hand.  Phasma had just informed him that their confident in Takodana, Bazine Netal, had sent a transmission stating that the droid, and its accomplices including that of FN-2187, had been identified.

Brendan’s lip curled in disgust at the mention of the defected stormtrooper, “I shall inform Ren of this new development.”

It only took a quick comm directly to Ren to let him know of the droid’s whereabouts. Ren replied back curtly, as always, but Brendan could tell he was pleased with this update. Satisfied now that the droid was once more on its way to falling into their clutches Brendan went his way to his work.

He spoke too soon.

 

\--

 

As soon as he entered the chamber he knew his rage equaled if not exceeded that of Supreme Leader Snoke who had just shouted that the scavenger had somehow resisted Ren’s interrogation techniques.

“She is untrained with the Force!” Ren said back, pointing behind him as if pointing at her, “Stronger than she knows!” he was unmasked so his voice came out wheedle-like, almost whining.

“And the droid?!” Snoke demanded.

Deciding to use this time in retribution for Ren’s comments about a clone army, Brendan piped up as he strode forward with purpose with his unfettered contempt aimed directly at Ren, “Ren believe it was no longer _valuable_ to us, that _the girl_ was all we needed,” he disgust became only further exacerbated as he looked directly at Snoke, “As a result the droid has more than likely been returned to the hands of the enemy. They may have the map already.”

“Then the Resistance must be destroyed before they get to Skywalker,” Snoke surmised, his shoulders sagging in obvious disappointment.

“We have their location,” Brendan said, unable to keep the note of smugness out of his voice, “We tracked their reconnaissance ship to the Ileenium System.”

“Good,” Snoke said, sitting back in his chair, “Prepare the weapon with the same efficiency you have already demonstrated. “Then we will crush them once and for all.”

Brendan bowed his head sharply, hesitant to be firing on the entire system after already having devastated one, but walked away from the platform as Ren stepped forward. He caught on his way out Ren’s fervent plea.

“Supreme Leader, I can get the map from the girl... I just need your guidance,” Ren said, face turned imploringly up at Snoke.

Brendan ignored the rest of what Snoke said, focused more on the sheer panic that had arced though Ren and subsequently to himself. Oh yes, Brendan knew exactly who General Organa was and why Ren was hesitant to fire upon the system, despite this, he had every intention of succeeding in something that he knew Ren would fail every time.

 

\--

 

As he arrived back to the command center he knew immediately something was wrong.

“Main planetary shields have gone out. Not localized: right across the board!” an officer exclaimed.

Brendan frowned, “I certainly did not authorize this. Causes?”

“It doesn’t show here, sir,” The officer replied, their fingers working quickly on the different switches.

“Send a tech squad down there, I want to know what is going on.”

Suddenly alarms started blaring.

“Fighters incoming!” a different officer announced.

Brendan’s eyes widened as he stepped towards the transparisteel, his eyes taking in the sight of Resistance X-wings soaring over the thermal oscillator.

Schooling his face into calmness he turned around long enough to evenly say to one of his captains, “Dispatch all squadrons. Take out every attacking craft, no matter the cost.”

“Yes, General,” the man replied.

“And engage seekers,” he added.

The officer paused, “In this sort of skirmish, sir, seekers will have a difficult time differentiating our fighters from theirs.”

“There is no time to worry about collateral damage,” Brendan said, his voice steely, “Give the order.”

“Yes…sir.” With that the officer left.

As soon as Brendan faced back to the windows his expression fell and worry etched itself onto his face. If they were aiming for the oscillator then there was no doubt indeed that the defected Stormtrooper had not only given them this information but had been also the cause of the shields going down.

The battle raged on, fighters and x-wings zooming past with canons blazing. A sudden explosion illuminated the battlefield, making Brendan shield his eyes against its sudden brilliance. As he looked back at the oscillator his heart sank. It was only further broken by one of his techs shouting that the oscillator’s overspill had breached containment and was reaching critical levels. Brendan dispatched one of his lieutenants to be at command while he quietly slipped away to speak with Snoke on this sudden turn of events.

By the time he reached the projection chamber he felt purely heart sick and for some reason he was having increased pains along his left arm and across his face. Thinking it was the result of his anxiety bouncing off the charts he managed to present himself to the Supreme Leader to inform him of what was going on.

“Supreme Leader!” Hux shouted above the fray, jumping slightly as a large piece of stonework faltered and fell, “The fuel cells are ruptured. The collapse of the planet has begun.”

“Leave the Base at once and come to me with Kylo Ren,” Snoke ordered, his face grim, “It is time to complete his training.”

Without even waiting for a reply Snoke’s projection faded out and Brendan took off running to Bay Two where Ren kept his shuttle. He and a handful of troopers were able to get onboard as a large rumble shuddered the planet. The pain in his face increased and he rubbed at it idly as he punched in the commands for Ren’s tracker signal to activate. In short time he was located and the shuttle guided down to his location.

“Bring Lord Ren aboard carefully.” Brendan ordered over the cataclysmic noise to the two stormtroopers accompanying him down the ramp.

A jagged scar ran up Ren’s face and as Brendan took a closer look he noticed its origin point down on his right upper arm and up the side of his throat. Brendan grimaced as the scavenger girl Rey knelt crying over the traitorous FN-2187. Brendan was unsure if the former Trooper was merely injured or dead but between the planet’s collapsing and Snoke’s orders he had no choice but to turn away and tend to Ren.

The troopers did as told, placing Ren as gently as they could on a bunk in the ship while a third trooper hastily found the medical kit. Blood seeping out of the gash in Ren’s face mixed together with the melting snow and tears on his face. Brendan took an extra warmed cloth from the trooper who was currently cutting open Ren’s tunic and carefully cleaned Ren’s face, avoiding placing too much pressure on the fresh slash. Ren refused to meet his eyes, choosing instead to stare up at the plain ceiling of the shuttle as they escaped the exploding planet.

Stripped of his tunic, Ren’s injuries were put into perspective and Brendan backed off to let the trooper do their job. Bacta-swabs were produced from a separate kit along with gauze. Brendan watched as the various wounds on Ren’s torso were cleaned meticulously and given bacta salve before being wrapped. As soon as the troopers were done they backed away hastily, more than likely becoming more aware of who they just touched.

Ren looked over at Brendan making the thin strip of gauze holding the bacta patch secure on his face shift awkwardly. Brendan fixed it back in place and guided Ren’s head back to where it was.

“We will make them regret damaging our progress,” Brendan said, brushing back Ren’s hair from his forehead.

Despite the anger and disappointment bubbling under the surface seeing Ren hurt in such a way pained him. Gently, he picked up one of Ren’s hands and kissed it in reassurance before letting it drop back down to his side.

Ren attempted to maintain eye contact but the sedative one of the troopers had given him kicked in and he slipped into sleep. Brendan sighed a breath of relief and plopped down at one of the small tables nearby. His entire life’s work gone within moments, his best friend presumably dead if she had not gotten to escape, and now he is dealing with a damaged Force-user. During all his gaze was drawn to a bottle of bacta left there and his fingers tapped on the table’s surface with a new thought.

Before he could second-guess himself Brendan held up his hand in front of himself before tilting it downwards so the tips of his fingers faced the bottle. He focused solely on his link with Ren, intensified in the moment from panic and pain, and felt a wave of renewed energy flow into him.  As his brows knit together in intense concentration the bottle at first did nothing then after another few tense moments it wobbled enough to finally tip over. Brendan put his hand down and let a victorious smile spread across his face.

They may have won the battle but he was intent on winning the war.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much much thanks to Oorsprong for being my #1 Beta for this fic and encouraging me when I started to lose sight of where exactly I was going with this.  
> Additional Thanks to Fedaykin who has been an exuberant reader and secondary beta in a pinch <3


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